


Accidentally In Love

by aussiebee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, I do what I want, Idiots in Love, M/M, kind of, not remotely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/pseuds/aussiebee
Summary: “We should get married.”“Hmm?” Stiles said distractedly, a pen between his teeth as he scrolled.“Stiles,” Derek said patiently, “we should get married.”Finally hearing him, Stiles turned his head and spat his pen into his hand. “Okay?”“If anything happens to me, everything I have, all my money and property and the cars all go to Peter. If we got married, it would go to you. Peter would hate that.”Stiles snorted. “Sure, dude, just let me know the date and time and I’ll be there.”They grinned at each other as the sound of something breaking came from Peter’s room, and that was that.OR that time Derek proposed and Stiles agreed but he was the only one who thought it was a joke.





	Accidentally In Love

Sitting on the sofa together, Stiles researching something on the internet _(god, how does it always,_ always _come back to porn? It has tentacles, for crying out loud)_ and Derek reading Pratchett again _(this is what I wish magic was actually like, Stiles, instead of the literal hell we have to deal with)_ it was a completely ordinary, utterly unremarkable Wednesday afternoon.

Until.

“We should get married.”

“Hmm?” Stiles said distractedly, a pen between his teeth as he scrolled.

“Stiles,” Derek said patiently, “we should get married.”

Finally hearing him, Stiles turned his head and spat his pen into his hand. “Okay?”

“If anything happens to me, everything I have, all my money and property and the cars all go to Peter. If we got married, it would go to you. Peter would _hate_ that.”

Stiles snorted. “Sure, dude, just let me know the date and time and I’ll be there.”

They grinned at each other as the sound of something breaking came from Peter’s room, and that was that.

 

 _Until_.

 

“What’s Derek’s favourite colour?” Lydia asked Erica a few weeks later as Stiles brought the last of the groceries for dinner into the kitchen.

“Red,” he said, even as Erica shrugged. “Why?”

“Favourite flower?”

“Peonies, or ranunculus. The white ones, not the pink.” He paused from putting everything away when two pairs of eyes settled intensely on him. “What?” he asked. “They were the first flowers his dad ever gave his mom, and he gave her a whole heap every birthday, anniversary and special occasion.” He frowned. “Wow, the things you remember, huh?”

Stiles missed the glance the two women shared as he went back to emptying the bags. “Afternoon or evening?” Lydia asked again as she pulled out her phone.

“Evening. Night is even better.”

“Favourite season?”

“Fall.” He smiled to himself. “He likes running through the leaves.” He began pulling everything together to start getting dinner ready. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Someone has to start planning the wedding,” Lydia told him primly, showing him her phone where she had a Pinterest board with _Derek ♥ Stiles_ as the title.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles laughed. “I forgot about that.”

“How do you forget your own wedding?” Erica asked, incredulity written all over her face.

Stiles just laughed again. “Come here and chop these onions, would you? It’s so much faster with your claws than me doing it with a knife.”

The next half hour continued on in the same manner, and by the time Derek showed up, crowding into Stiles’ space in the kitchen and sneaking ‘taste test’ cheese-stuffed meatballs off the plate by the stove as Stiles placed them there once they were cooked, Lydia was confident she had enough information to begin making arrangements.

“Spare no expense,” Derek said expansively as Stiles began plating up the spaghetti and meatballs with a rich tomatoey sauce, “nothing’s too good for my future husband.”

There was a barely audible growl from wherever Peter was lurking in the apartment and Stiles grinned widely, outright laughing when Derek pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before sitting down to eat.

Peter was a no-show for dinner, but that wasn’t unexpected, and life continued on as normal.

 

 _Until_.

 

“Jesus christ, Stiles, could you please just hurry up?”

“Don’t rush me, Derek,” Stiles told him. “I know you don’t care, but given that I’m the one doing most of the cooking-”

“Lie. Boyd does most of the cooking.”

“-most of the cooking that requires more than microwavable containers or a _cereal bowl_ , I’m going to make sure that the cookware set is actually a good one.”

“Hey look!” Derek said with mock-excitement, pointing arbitrarily at a display shelf with saucepans on it, “that one has handles and lids like _every other set in here so just pick one already_.”

Stiles sighed and felt his shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine.” He grabbed a box of the pans Derek had pointed to and turned to take it to the checkout when he felt Derek step up behind him and then around to take it out of his hands and put it back.

“Sorry,” he rumbled, eyes flicking up to Stiles’ and then away again. “I know this is important to you, I just don’t get it.” He hesitated. “Explain what it is you want, and I’ll try and help.”

“I want to make good food for you, and for everyone else,” Stiles told him, surprised by the shift in attitude. “I want you to like what I make for you.”

Derek stared at him for a moment, his mouth just open enough for Stiles to see the bottom of his front teeth, cute as hell and ridiculously distracting. “I meant explain what you want in a saucepan,” Derek told him, his expression softening.

Stiles flushed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Oh. Right. Uh-”

“But for what it’s worth, I like everything you make,” Derek added. “And I like that you care enough to want to make anything at all.”

“Guess I’m going to make a pretty good husband after all,” Stiles smiled.

“There was never any doubt,” Derek told him seriously, though the way the corner of his mouth turned up softened the intensity.

They stood there in the middle of the ridiculously overpriced Williams-Sonoma just smiling at each other like a couple of dorks before Derek finally shook himself off and tossed his head. “Come on; I think I saw some copper pans over here.”

“Not unless you want to pay fifteen hundred bucks, man.”

“If that’s what it costs, that’s what it costs,” Derek said firmly, taking Stiles by the hand and leading him further into the store, Stiles protesting the entire way.

Over an hour and two thousand dollars later they left, weighed down with a brand new set of copper cookware, a new 12-setting dinner set, cutlery and various other odds and ends. “I’m not entirely sure what just happened,” Stiles said bemusedly as they left the shopping centre.

“Hey, hold up a minute,” Derek said, juggling the box and bags he had so he could reach into his pocket and pull out some change. He put it into the gumball-type machine by the exit and turned the handle so a plastic capsule dropped out. Retrieving it, he tossed it to Stiles.

“What’s this?” Stiles asked as he opened it.

“If we’re getting married, you should probably have an engagement ring,” Derek told him.

That startled a laugh out of Stiles and he slipped the plastic ring onto the little finger of his left hand, the gaudy plastic ‘diamond’ twinkling. They loaded up the car with their loot and began the drive back home, Stiles holding his hand out and admiring the ring.

“Thank you for today,” he said eventually. “You know you didn’t have to spend all that money, though, right? I would’ve been happy just with something that didn’t actually have the potential to burn through the bottom over the gas.”

“I know,” Derek said, glancing over his shoulder as he changed lanes, “but you wanted copper, so that’s what we got.”

“How did you even know I wanted copper?” Stiles asked curiously.

“Because you make this little sigh every time you see them on the shows on the Food Network,” Derek told him, his eyes crinkling at the corners behind his sunglasses.

Stiles looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Biting his lip in indecision, Stiles reached across the centre console, ring blinking in the late afternoon sun, and placed his hand briefly on Derek’s where it rested on the gear stick. Well, he’d meant it to be brief, but Derek’s hand shifted and curled around his fingers, and they spent the rest of the drive home like that, the car filled with comfortable silence.

For the first time in a long time, Stiles thought to himself, his life was actually going smoothly.

 

 _Until_.

 

“So, should I be expecting an invitation any time soon?” Noah asked his son over lunch a week later.

“I don’t know, where are you going?” Stiles asked, confused, as he dipped his sushi in soy sauce.

“I meant to the wedding,” his father replied. “ _Your_ wedding.”

Stiles grinned as he chewed. “You heard about that, huh?”

“I gotta tell you, kid, I’m pretty disappointed to have heard about it from the rumour mill. I thought you knew by now that I love you no matter what, even if you do decide to marry someone like Derek Hale. I mean, there are plenty of guys that I do think would be a better match for you, like Parrish, for example, but-”

“What?” Stiles cut in. “Dad, it’s a joke. Derek said it to piss Peter off.”

Noah looked confused. “But I heard something about him giving you a ring?”

Stiles pulled his keys out of his pocket and showed his dad the toy ring he had threaded into his keyring. “He gave me this as a joke.”

“Uh, no, Carly-Maree at the jewellers over by Sheridan Park said he was in there the other day having something made for you.”

Stiles froze. “Wait, what?”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Geez, Stiles, only you could go and get engaged and be the last one to realise it.” He glanced at his watch and pulled some cash from his wallet to leave on the diner counter as he stood to leave. “I’ve got to get back, but I suggest you speak with Derek.”

Stiles just stared at his father, only managing to yell out, “It’s a _joke!_ ” as he walked through the door, the sheriff just shaking his head as he unlocked the cruiser. But he couldn’t have been right, could he? Stiles was determined to find out, though, and get to the bottom of the matter.

 

 _Until_.

 

The loft was oddly still when he arrived later that same afternoon, the shadows stretching long across the floor when he let himself in. He knew Derek usually worked out in the afternoons, but it was unusual that he wasn’t around or training with Erica or Boyd. It wasn’t until he had ventured further into the loft and heard something thump onto the floor above his head that he realised Derek was probably upstairs, so he climbed the spiral staircase and finally heard the shower running as he flopped face-down onto Derek’s bed to wait until he was done.

He woke up three hours later, still face down with his face turned to the windows. He yawned and went to roll over, but pulled up short when he realised his arm was being held in place. Carefully turning his head he wasn’t really surprised to see Derek sleeping next to him, with just a pair of basketball shorts on and his hand wrapped firmly around Stiles’ forearm as he slept.

He felt something dangerous and terrifying curl deep in his gut and he felt his breath stutter out of him with the intensity of it. He wasn’t sure if it was that or the sudden racing of his heart that alerted Derek to the fact that Stiles was awake and watching him, but his eyes opened slowly, a soft grey-green in the dim light of early evening and creased ever-so-slightly at the corners. Stiles smiled back, a small and private little quirk of his lips that made Derek’s next breath seem a bit deeper, even as he let go of Stiles’ arm.

Seemingly without his implicit approval Stiles’ freed hand moved of its own volition to trace his fingertips carefully over Derek’s top lip, the corner of his mouth and over his hair-covered chin. He froze as Derek shifted a little and rumbled so deep within his chest it was almost subsonic, but felt his heart thump extra hard when Derek tilted his chin up a little, a tentative invitation that left Stiles literally breathless.

He trailed his fingers down Derek’s chin with aching slowness, along the sharp edge of his jaw and then down further to his throat, terrified of misstepping or having misread the situation, but Derek just huffed a soft breath out and let his eyes drop closed as Stiles curved his hand around the back of his neck so his thumb could caress the pale, delicate skin that covered his Adam’s apple in a gentle rhythm.

The trust inherent in the gesture made Stiles swallow convulsively, a loud click in the otherwise silent room that made Derek grin lazily as he watched Stiles from beneath eyelids only half open.

Then Stiles startled badly as the loft door was dragged open downstairs, several familiar voices floated up to where they lay. His hand tightened a little on Derek’s throat and an indescribable _something_ flared to life in Derek’s eyes before he dropped his chin again, earlier lassitude disappearing as Stiles slowly and reluctantly withdrew his hand.

“Stay for dinner?” Derek asked quietly, seemingly as reluctant as Stiles to leave the bedroom.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles breathed. “Yes.”

Smiling, Derek seemed to hesitate for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Stiles’, just a brief, dry brushing of lips before he was gone, leaving Stiles alone in the dark room with nothing but his confusion for company.

When he finally made his way downstairs after washing to appear less like he'd just woken up from a four-hour nap with Derek in Derek’s bed he was greeted enthusiastically by the rest of the pack. And while the evening was uneventful, it was absolutely the weirdest day Stiles had had that week.

 

_Until._

 

Once again spending the afternoon at the loft, this time sprawled on his back on the sofa as he read through an ancient illuminated text while Erica, Scott and Boyd were all on the floor doing the same, Stiles looked backwards up at Derek where he had come to stand behind Stiles’ head resting on the arm of the couch, a stack of papers in his hand.

“Did you know that the selkie myth is probably Norwegian in origin?”

“Saami,” Derek said distractedly.

“On pizza? Sure,” Stiles replied with a grin.

“Not salami, Stiles, _Saami_. People indigenous to Northern Scandinavia.” He dropped his paper onto Stiles’ chest, ignoring the wide-eyed stare directed his way as he crossed behind the sofa to sit at the desk and pull up his email on the computer there.

“Okay, so ignoring for the moment that one, you know that and B, it’s weirdly attractive to me that you do, what’s this about?” Stiles asked once he had collected himself and swapped his book for the papers.

“You need to sign them where the yellow stickers are,” Derek informed him from across the room. “Then I’ll send them back to the solicitor and he’ll file them. Or whatever.”

“What are they-” Stiles trailed off, his eyes widening comically. “Dude, is this a marriage licence?”

“Don’t call me dude, Stiles,” Derek sighed. “And yes.”

It took a moment but Stiles began to laugh, not even noticing when Derek turned on the chair to stare at him as he did so. “Oh my god, for a second there I thought you were for real,” he managed to gasp out, waving the papers above his head where he was still lying on the sofa. “Were you guys in on this too?” he asked the others, slowly sobering when he finally realised they were staring at him with various degrees of horror, disappointment and anger on their faces. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said shortly, suddenly looming right over Stiles as he snatched the papers back and left not just the room, but the apartment entirely.

“Wow, Stiles,” Erica said scathingly as she shot to her feet. “Could you be any more of a jackass?” Then she was gone too, her dark Boyd-shaped shadow following closely behind.

Feeling like he had somehow fucked up royally at the same time as not knowing how exactly he’d done so was a disconcerting feeling, and one that had Stiles’ stomach churning uncomfortably as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch to sit up and stare at Scott. “What the hell just happened?”

“Look, Stiles, you might not like him the same way he likes you, but that was a pretty awful way of getting your point across,” he said, disappointment pulling the corners of her mouth down. “I wouldn’t have expected something that cruel to come from you.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Stiles demanded, thoroughly confused. “Derek doesn’t like me. I mean, he’s not trying to actively kill me most days, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say he _likes_ me.”  
  
It was Scott’s turn to look confused. “In what world do you think Derek would propose marriage to someone he didn’t love, let alone like?”

Stiles stared at him. “I feel like we’re having two separate conversations here.”

“Yeah, my relevant one and your stupid one,” he frowned. There was a brief silence as he watched Stiles before suddenly his mouth dropped open and his eyes got scarily wide. “Oh my god,” he breathed, and that was when Stiles got it.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he exclaimed in return. “What? Derek- _me?_ What?”

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I thought you _knew_ -”

“Derek _loves_ me? How do you even know-”

“I mean, it’s not like it was a secret-”

“Does everyone else know? Does he think _I_ know? Because-”

“Everyone knows, and we all thought you did too-”

“I had _no idea and can you please just explain to me what the fuck is happening?”_

After his sudden frustrated and utterly terrified exclamation they both froze, panic flaring bright in Stiles’ eyes as Scott stared back at him in stunned silence.

“Derek…” Stiles trailed off as his voice caught in his throat. “Derek loves me?”

“Yes, he does.”

“And everyone knows it.”

“We do.”

“And he thinks… that I know?”

“I… yes?”

“And he wants to marry me.”

“I think he was using the whole ‘make sure Peter gets nothing’ excuse to kind of sound you out about the marriage thing, but… yes.”

“And this isn’t some weirdly elaborate prank or a massive miscommunication on my part?”

“No, it’s really not,” Scott said wryly. He got up and came to sit next to him on the sofa, slinging his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Do you love _him_?” he asked softly.

Stiles laughed, a shuddery little noise that sounded about one revelation away from a sob. “Of course I do,” he said plainly, without even having to think about it. “It’s Derek.”

“Then maybe you should tell him that,” Scott suggested gently.

“Yeah, I’m thinking so,” Stiles said determinedly, pulling Scott in for a brief, tight hug. “Thanks, Scotty.”

He shoved to his feet and grabbed his keys, thoughts racing almost as fast as his heart. _Okay,_ he thought wildly as he bolted down the stairs, _what do I know? First, Derek loves me. Is_ in _love with me, I guess, if he’s proposing. Two, I’m so okay with that idea. Three, he wants to marry me._

That realisation, suddenly real in a way it hadn’t been during the confused conversation with Lydia, almost made him stumble to a stop on the first floor landing.

Jesus. Derek was in love with and wanted to marry him. Stiles. In a ‘til death us do part’ kind of way which, given their history, was likely to be Tuesday next week.

Still.

The warm flush that settled over him and the sudden catch of breath in his throat made Stiles smile involuntary.

_Derek Hale wants to marry me. He loves me._

Resuming his headlong flight down the stairs and out the entrance of the building, Stiles stopped when he realised the Camaro was gone and he had no idea where Derek would be. So he got into the jeep and began driving, moving through town, up to the Hale house, past the little cafe with the ridiculously large assortment of loose-leaf teas he knew Derek loved, the supermarket, the library, even the school, but there was no sign of Derek.

Stiles became increasingly worried as the afternoon wore and and he hadn’t managed to find the elusive werewolf. He called all of their friends to see whether or not any of them had seen him but had no luck with that, either. So when he had exhausted practically every place in town he conceded defeat and returned home, only to find Derek’s car parked in front of his house.

He didn’t even remember turning the engine off before Stiles was bolting inside, skidding to a stop and only barely halting his momentum with a hand on the kitchen doorframe when he found his father and Derek sitting side-by-side at the table, each with a mug in front of them and clearly mid-conversation.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours,” Stiles breathed, his palms suddenly sweaty and his heart racing. “I wanted to… I had to…”

“Good luck,” the sheriff muttered as he got to his feet, and clapped Derek on the shoulder before walking over to Stiles and studying his face carefully before smiling wryly and squeezing his forearm. “Try not to screw it up again, huh?”

“Appreciate the moral support, Dad,” Stiles snarked, though his eyes never left Derek who was watching him steadily, his expression unreadable.

“Well, I seem to have failed in giving you any common sense, so you should take what you can get,” his dad shot back as he headed into the hall, and then Derek and Stiles were alone.

Stiles stepped hesitantly into the kitchen and sat in the seat his father had just vacated, resisting the urge to sprawl and instead clasping his hands together and tucking them between his thighs so he wouldn’t fidget. “So.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his voice smooth and steady. “I thought you knew how I felt about you, and that you’d know I was serious. I thought you felt the same.”

“I do,” Stiles blurted out, a wry smile twisting his mouth at those particular words. “I mean, I didn’t know about the part where you liked me, but I like you. I have for a while.”

Derek smirked a little, though his eyes were soft and affectionate. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” Stiles sighed, beyond mortified but a little distracted by everything else going on to really dwell on it. He’d save that for later. He swallowed hard when Derek reached over and slid his palm down Stiles’ wrist, fingertips brushing the inside of his thigh as he tugged Stiles’ hand free to lace their fingers together. “Did you mean it?” he asked breathlessly, rushed. “Do you actually want to marry me, or was it all just to get a rise out of Peter?”

Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles’ snicker, then actually smiled when he seemed to realise what he’d said and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “No, it wasn’t just to _provoke_ Peter, though that is a massive tick in the ‘for’ column,” Derek told him honestly. “It’s just- you’re already my next of kin, you know? You provide for me, for the pack. You know me, and you get me in a way that no one has since Laura was alive. You’re clever, and brave and strong and persistent, and while you’re incredibly annoying-”

“Womp, there it is,” Stiles scowled.

“-you’re home to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Stiles was silent for a long moment, then looked at Derek. “So why didn’t you just ask me like a real human being? Instead of picking a moment that you knew Peter would be home to overhear, why didn’t you, I don’t know, take me out to dinner and propose on bended knee by candlelight, or something?”

Derek raised his eyebrows and stared at Stiles incredulously.

“I did say ‘or something,” Stiles clarified.

“You’re pretty low-maintenance, for all your neuroses,” Derek informed him. “I thought low-key would have been more your style.”

“Wow, you really know how to sweet-talk a guy, babe.”

“No.”

“Aw, what’s wrong with babe? How about boo?”

“I wonder if it’s possible to get preemptively divorced,” Derek mused aloud.

“Sweet cheeks?”

“Or get some kind of prenup where you get nothing if you ever call me that again.”

“Sugar wolf?”

“Maybe a mandatory stay at Eichen House for every example where you’ve clearly lost your mind.”

“Lover?”

Derek’s expression slowly slid from amused to dark and heated in a way that had Stiles’ stomach flipping and his arousal spiking. “Soon,” he said softly, and his voice was a promise.

“Oh my god, you’re going to kill me,” Stiles whispered, barely trusting his voice.

“Death by snu-snu?” Derek suggested, and grinned when Stiles’ mouth fell open.

“A culturally-relevant joke? Holy shit, if I wasn’t in love with you before I sure as hell am now,” Stiles laughed. Something in Derek’s easy expression shuttered a little and Stiles turned his chair so his knees were bumping against Derek’s. “Hey, don’t do that,” he said, his voice serious. “I do love you, Derek. Futurama references aside, I’ve loved you for so long I don’t remember what it was like to _not_ love you. And yeah, I want to marry you, not only because Peter might actually kill himself before he came to the wedding. Uh, which is practically planned out, by the way. Um, Lydia has _plans._ ”

“I know,” Derek told him. “I asked her to.”

A little thrown by that, Stiles paused. “Wow, you really are serious.”

Derek didn’t say anything, just reached into his pocket and drew out a ring box. “I had this made for you.”

Reluctantly pulling his hand from Derek’s, Stiles opened it and felt his mouth drop open a little at the gorgeous ring inside. Made of titanium, the wide band featured two slimmer inlaid bands, one of a milky white stone and the other of a dark, polished wood. “It’s so beautiful,” Stiles breathed, pulling the ring out and examining it closely. “What are these bands made of? Wait… is this _moonstone?_ ”

Derek smiled at Stiles’ laughter. “I thought you might like that. Though it is supposed to enhance intuition, not that you need any help with that. The wood, though- well, Deaton helped me with that. It’s a gift from the Nemeton, freely given.”

Something about the way Derek said it made Stiles look sharply at him, and take in the way he was rubbing one thumb against the palm of his other hand. Stiles took hold of his fingers and turned his hand over, eyes widening in surprise at the pink scar that bisected the heel of his hand. “Derek, what did you do?”

“A sacrifice,” Derek explained. “Blood in return for wood. And it healed right away, but it left this scar. Deaton said that it was a fair trade.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Stiles said slowly.

“The Nemeton is healthy, now,” Derek reminded him. “It’s functioning as it should, and Deaton said that this is the sort of thing the druids would do all the time.”

Still a little skeptical, Stiles absently drew Derek’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the scar, not noticing the expression of want that flashed across Derek’s face as he returned to his inspection of the ring. “So why the wood?”

“It’s supposed to offer protection to the wearer, as well as channel power and focus. And like with so much else we deal with, it’s not the amount, it’s the intent.”

“And this?” Stiles asked, running one fingertip along the inscription on the inside of the band. “Protegit te amica mea,” he read.

“‘My love protects you’.”

The silence that fell over them was profound, and Stiles looked up, his eyes studying Derek’s for a long, searching moment. “Will you?” he asked, handing the ring to Derek and then holding out his left hand.

Derek did, sliding the ring down Stiles’ finger, careful at the knuckle, then took that hand in both of his and turned it so he could press the palm to his own cheek, eyes dropping closed at the warmth of Stiles’ skin against his face. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice suddenly rough.

“For what?” Stiles asked, breathless as he stared at the ring where it rested against Derek’s cheekbone..

“For loving me,” Derek replied honestly.

Stiles used his hand on Derek to draw him close and kiss him carefully, his lips moving slowly and gently against Derek’s. It sent bolts of lust careening through him, and the way Derek inhaled sharply meant that he became aware of it. When his eyes opened to meet Stiles’ as they separated there was almost no iris left to be seen around the way his pupils were blown wide, and Stiles shivered.

“I love you,” Stiles murmured, kissing Derek again.

“I love you too,” Derek whispered back, smiling against Stiles’ mouth. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

 

_Until._

 

“Good god, Lydia, if you don’t calm down I’m going to grab Derek and we’re going to skip town and elope.”

“I would find you and I would _destroy you_ ,” Lydia hissed, her usually calm demeanor shattered by stress.

“I told you not to plan a big wedding,” Stiles told her smugly, sitting back on his bed in his black suit and crossing his legs at the ankle.

“Do you know how many werewolves are going to be at this reception?” she demanded as she stabbed angrily at the phone. “Can you imagine what the situation will devolve into if there is no catering at the reception?"

“Won’t matter to me,” Stiles grinned. “Derek and I’ll probably be having sex up here anyway.”

“Like hell you will,” Lydia shot back. “I haven’t gone to all this effort to have you and your idiot husband sneak off for a quickie before the cake is cut.”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Derek said as he entered the room, looking fucking _edible_ in his own suit, “there won’t be anything quick about it.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Stiles’ grinning, upturned mouth, sitting next to him on the bed as they both watched Lydia pace with the phone to her ear.

“ _So. Many. Werewolves_ ,” she said pointedly. “No one wants to hear that.”

“Erica would,” Stiles said confidently.

“Damn right!” Erica herself called from downstairs in the kitchen where she was sitting with Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom.

“Hey, Lydia,” Scott called from the bottom of the stairs, “the caterers are here!”

“Oh thank god,” Lydia exclaimed and shot out of the room at a pace that should have been impossible in the heels she was wearing.

“Not long to go,” Derek said to Stiles, threading their fingers together. “Any last-minute nerves?”

Stiles snorted. “Only that Lydia is actually going to give herself a stroke before the ceremony.” He hesitated as he looked up at Derek from beneath his eyelashes. “What about you?”

The sheriff knocked on the door as he stuck his head in. “Ms. Martin said to tell you that Doc Deaton is here and you’re expected downstairs in five minutes. She also told you to keep your clothes on until at least half the guests have left.”

“Like we need to take our clothes off,” Stiles grinned wickedly.

“You are a terrible son,” Noah groaned as he shook his head in denial, taking in the matching smile on Derek’s face. “You both are. Five minutes or I’m sending Erica up to collect you.”

Stiles got to his feet and raised his eyebrows at the expression on Derek’s face. “What?”

“Your dad, he-”

“Yeah, well, you’re the idiot who married into this family voluntarily,” Stiles told him as he pulled Derek to standing. “And you weren’t even _cursed_ or anything.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek said, but his smile was fond as he followed Stiles to look out the window and down into the Stilinki’s backyard, at the gathered friends and family beginning to find their seats beneath the strings of fairy lights. He turned to face Stiles and drew him close, cupping his face in careful hands as his thumbs brushed slowly over the familiar sharp cheekbones.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I know,” Stiles replied with a wide grin, before rolling his eyes. “Don’t front, I know you’ve watched it.” He kissed Derek once more and grinned. “Ready to head down and make an honest woman of me?”

“There’s no ceremony in the world strong enough to make that happen,” Derek sighed. “Guess I’ll just have to marry you instead.”

“It’s a cross we must bear,” Stiles grinned, stealing one last kiss before taking Derek’s hand and leading him downstairs towards their forever.

* * *

Laughing delightedly, more than a little drunk and incredibly pleased with the way his  _husband's_  hands were grabbing his ass, Stiles stumbled inside.

"I cannot believe we're married," he exclaimed, turning in the circle of Derek's arms and admiring the gold band on his finger. "Show me yours, again."

A wry snort of laughter from the darkness of the hall had Stiles startling forward.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Peter," Derek said resignedly.

"Oh my god, you freaking creeper," Stiles sighed. "What are you even doing here?"

"You invited me," Peter said, tweaking his bowtie.

"And you returned that invitation with the date scratched out and 'a cold day in hell' written on it in what looked like blood," Derek pointed out.

"It was red Sharpie, Derek," Peter said condescendingly. "I see marriage hasn't softened your penchant for melodrama."

"I'll melodrama you," Stiles muttered. Then, louder, "What do you want?"

"I am simply here to offer my congratulations," Peter said. "For all our differences, you are... exquisite." He crossed to where Derek and Stiles were standing together and took Stiles' hands in his, thumb toying with the new ring on his finger. "You are strong, capable, clever, sly and a wonderful liar. You're also very good looking, so-"

"You are  _not_  hitting on my husband at our  _wedding_!" Derek exclaimed in disbelief.

"Of course not," Peter said easily. "That would be gauche."

"Then what  _are_  you doing?" Stiles asked, tugging his hand out of Peter's.

"I am trying to bestow my blessing," Peter said, mildly exasperated. "In spite of the fact that I'm ninety percent sure this all began as a plan to screw me over, I'm glad that if Derek had to do this, he chose you to do it with."

There was profound silence in the room, and just as Derek opened his mouth to speak Peter spoke again.

"But Stiles, if you ever decide to move on from Derek, or just need something a little extra in the bedroom, you have my number."

"Oh my god, dude," Stiles said, midway between outraged and hysterical amusement. "Thank you for that...er, generous offer... but I think we'll be just fine. Um, there's food out the back, why don't you go and...eat. Out there. Away from us."

"I'll do that," Peter smirked. "But I'll be thinking of you." And with that he disappeared into the backyard.

"What the fuck?" Derek said bluntly once he was gone.

Stiles dissolved into peals of bewildered laughter and grabbed Derek's hand. "Come on, I need to get the skeeze off me."

"I could lick it off," Derek suggested, leaning in to whisper against Stiles' ear.

"I want pictures," Erica yelled from the backyard.

Derek groaned and dropped his forehead to Stiles' shoulder, but Stiles just laughed. "Could this wedding be any more representative of our entire lives?" He grabbed Derek's hand and led him upstairs. "Come on. Let's represent it with mutual hand jobs in the bathroom."

"Snap me!" Erica called again, and this time it was Derek's laughter that filled the house.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 09 Feb to add post-ceremony snippet from the comments <3


End file.
